


Silk Tie

by x_los



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/pseuds/x_los
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eroding their common ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk Tie

Title: Silk Tie  
  
Author: [](http://x-los.livejournal.com/profile)[ **x_los**](http://x-los.livejournal.com/)[](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=)  
  
Rating: NC-17  
  
Pairing:  Ten/Simm!Master (historic Three/Delgado!Master)  
  
Summary: Eroding their common ground.  
  
Beta: [](http://deborah-judge.livejournal.com/profile)[ **deborah_judge**](http://deborah-judge.livejournal.com/) : for lo, once the ending of this was truly lame, and she said unto me, 'Um. No.'  Verily, she was correct.  
  
A/N: edited request for [](http://best-enemies.livejournal.com/profile)[ **best_enemies**](http://best-enemies.livejournal.com/) [Anon Meme](http://community.livejournal.com/best_enemies/13938.html)  
  
  
  


The Doctor hadn't expected to wake up young again, with a familiar salmon-coloured tie gagging him. It still tasted like it had the first time the Master had shoved it in the Doctor's mouth--like silk, and, ever so slightly, like skin. Then, as now, it had just been uncoiled from its resting place on the Master's neck, where it had been tight-strung all day. Where it had taken on a touch of his flavor from the contact--faint, but a Gallifreyan's senses could still discern these things. 

The Doctor couldn't help but recall the ties' debut. The Master had hauled the Doctor out of a prison cell, still weak from the Keller Machine, fucked him over the warden's desk, and unceremoniously tossed him, staggering from the abuse, back for a confused Jo to tend to when he'd finished. 

To the Doctor's hyper-sensitive nose, which brushed past water and cleaning products and centuries like the misdirecting cues they were, the tie even still  _smelled_ of the cologne the Master had used in that body—oranges and anise. 

Smell was the sense best correlated to memory. The Doctor had caught a whiff of something similar enough to trigger him while wandering a bazaar in Carthage a year ago and felt instantly aroused. Unfathomable loneliness, cut through with shame, had swelled over him in the next second like a wave. That encounter had been  _far_  from romantic, and while it might be understandable to occasionally miss Koschei, missing the Master was an act of self-delusion, and yearning for him involved a willing suspension of disbelief. 

The reality of having the Master back had turned out to be far more terrible than the content of his fantasies. He thought of Earth and felt sick with guilt for having wanted this. Dreamed of this. Gotten off to the memory of it when he'd thought the Master lost forever.

"Was that as good for you as last time?" the Master drawled. He didn't even seem to mind the Doctor's lack of response, sated as he was. He eased the tie out of the Doctor’s jaw with a smirk. His fingers compulsively stroked the moist silk, tracing near-fond whorls. 

The Doctor wondered if in the lonely nights of the past centuries the Master had wrapped the tie around his neck and tightened it until it hurt  _just right,_  his other hand jerking his hardness in imitation of the rapid rhythm of Theta's bobbing mouth. He had probably wound it around his cock like a streamer on a Maypole and  _remembered,_  curled his fingers hard around his constrained length and pretended he was fucking the Doctor instead of his own hand. How many of these images were products of the Doctor’s imagination versus telling telepathic bleedover from having just been in contact with the Master was a matter of speculation, but the pictures were awfully vivid to be anything but flashes of recollection.

"You do seem to take to captivity," the Master muttered, "I'd almost say you missed this thing, the way you've sucked the salt off it." His mad grin was soft with afterglow. "I like it when you're greedy."

"Yeah. It was as good as the last time," the Doctor assumed a thoughtful expression, "but then I wasn't thinking of you then, either. Good thing about gags—no one hears what name you might have screamed. Spares everyone hurt feelings and embarrassment, that."

The Doctor grinned under the rapid crack of the back of the Master's hand across his face. Had he wanted to hear he'd been mourned, been  _missed?_  In the last years, in the centuries before? He had the world at his feet and he wanted the Doctor to  _thank_ him for it? The Master left without speaking, looking raw. As if something he’d valued had been tainted beyond recovery. 

The slap helped. It made the Doctor feel slightly less ashamed to have come for him, gagging out pleas for more around an old silk tie, while Earth burned beneath them.


End file.
